“Yeah.” I apply a little bronzer to the hollows of my cheeks.
“No. You?”
“Nope.”
“She must like this one,” Ali says with a hint of laughter in her voice.
Brooke is a classic stage-five clinger. There are always instant fireworks after the first date. She doesn’t waste any time bringing them home to meet the family and flaunting her puppy love in front of anyone who will take notice. Typically, by the second month she’s already talking marriage, and that’s usually when they run. But, she must really like this one if she has yet to bring him by in the six weeks they’ve been seeing each other. She hasn’t told Ali or me anything about him, and dodges our questions when we try to get answers out of her.
“Okay, I’m all set.” I watch as she finishes her last application of mascara and gives a small tug to the heart-shaped neckline that supports her two very noticeable assets. Her honey-gold hair is to the side, in a loose braid.
Ali has this aura that follows her. It’s like a deep, exotic red bubble that calls upon men, and sometimes even women. They flock to her. And she’s not shy about loving the attention it brings her. She’s not vain by any means, but she most definitely loves it. For a woman in her mid-twenties, you’d think she’d be looking to find a nice man like my sister and settle down. But nope, not her. She’d rather play the field.
Glancing at my own reflection in the mirror, suddenly my simple choice of a black, knee-length Calvin Klein dress seems so boring compared to Ali’s tight, red mini dress. My long, somber hair that fades from light brown to blonde is loosely curled, and my makeup is extremely light, except for my eyes. My eyes are vibrant shades of purple, silver, and a hint of brown, with black eyeliner and three coats of mascara.
“Don’t,” she says, as if she can read my mind. “You look great, birthday girl! Now, let's go celebrate.” With those words she hands me a silver- and black-laced mask that only covers my eyes, and turns off the bathroom light.
***
When we arrive just after nine, the house is already packed. Bodies are scattered throughout the lawn holding red solo cups with nothing but the glow of the moonlight above them. The house is small, but charmingly nestled quietly between a series of lady palm trees. It’s an admirable two-story blue-and-white house with a wraparound porch and red door. Jack-o-lanterns rest at the bottom of the steps with cobwebs lining the posts, fluttering in the breeze. Music swims through the speakers that are swinging on an old wooden swing attached to the porch. It feels like a heavenly secret escape.
I securely tie my mask and give a quick once-over in the rear-view mirror, my eyes popping beneath the mask. Stepping out of Ali’s older model BMW, I head up the cracked porch steps and enter the chatter-filled house, not waiting for Ali to follow. The kitchen is just off the main entrance, with bodies bumping shoulders inside. Pumpkin-scented candles fill the air along with hoots and hollers from already drunk guests. There’s a plethora of bottles to choose from along with a keg by the sliding glass door that leads back out to the porch. One of the best things about going to a party where no one knows you is they don’t know you’re not legally old enough to drink.
Ali comes up behind me. “I like your thinking,” she exclaims, taking in the variety of rum, vodka, whisky, and wine bottles. Grabbing two cups from the large stack she starts pouring a small amount of Bacardi Limon. Not including a mixer, she hands me one of the cups. “Cheers,” she says, and I watch as she slams back the liquid and pours herself another.
“Bottoms up,” I say, and hold my cup up before slamming it back. It’s sweet on my taste buds, but it burns my throat as I swallow.
After three shots, I mix in Sprite and sip on it. I’ve had a shitty day and could use more than a mask on my face to hide the embarrassment. Ali begins talking to a group of guys, so I sneak out the sliding door to the porch that opens up onto a large deck on the back of the house. There’s a small group of people that have claimed a table-and-chair set. Lanterns give off light along with the flickering blue flame from the fire pit nestled in the corner.
The air is thick, but cooling off steadily, with the temperature sitting at a low seventy degrees, according to the temperature gage tied to a deck post. Tiny goose bumps claim my arms as I stare out into the darkness, resting my cup and purse on the sticky wooden railing next to me, the white paint chipping from being spilled on one too many times. I look out into the palm trees that line the yard. The sound of the waves is not too far off into the distance. Laughter slices through as a gentleman at the table behind me shouts a joke over the loud music. I can’t help the smirk that slips through.
When I tuck my chin into my chest to shield the small breeze that sweeps in, out of the corner of my eye I see a shadow come up to my left. The body leans forward, resting both elbows on the same chipped railing. A beer bottle rests lightly between two large, smooth hands.
“You shouldn’t hide your smile.” His voice is soft, but has a small, smoky rasp to it. There’s no roughness behind his words.
I turn my head slightly and look his way. My smile slowly falters and fades. Next to me is a man. Even though he’s leaning forward, I can tell he’s tall. He’s not some young college boy crashing a party. No, this is someone who’s at least thirty, maybe even a little older. He’s dressed very casually for this party, in jeans and a plain gray sweatshirt, with no mask. His brown hair is windblown, his face freshly shaven, and when he gives me a full-on grin I almost buckle at the knees. Fuck. He has dimples.
I stand up straighter and turn so my right side is against the rail. “It’s getting a little chilly with the wind,” I say in my defense. “It caught me by surprise.” I give him a playful smirk, my cheeks shifting the mask up slightly.
He doesn’t say anything. Instead, I watch as he stands tall and takes a long swig from his beer bottle. Contemplating his next move? I’m not sure, but I watch him with curious eyes. When he sets the bottle down, he removes his sweatshirt over his head. His undershirt slips up with it giving me a tiny glimpse of the lightly tan washboard abs underneath.
He holds it out for me to take. I look between his offering and his face. His golden-brown eyes are gentle. For a man, he has long, beautiful lashes.
“Take it,” he says, waving it. Our fingertips lightly brush against one another, and I swear I hear him suck in a breath of air. His eyes almost look like they’re in pain as his brows curve inward. His lips part as his gaze roams over my face and finally down to my body. Heat radiates throughout me. Suddenly I’m no longer cold. I hesitate slipping on his sweatshirt, but when I get a hint of his scent, I slip it over my dress and inhale the deep, woodsy scent. There’s also a hint of apples mixed with a trace of after-shave and a bite of leather. I draw in another breath and let my eyes drift closed, letting the scent sink low in my lungs.
He lets out a small chuckle and my eyes pop open. He has his back against the deck rail and is watching me attentively with his head cocked to the side.
“Better?” He arches an eyebrow.
I nod, somehow unable to speak.
“Good.” When I don’t say anything further, he offers more. “I’m Trey.”
Trey. I say his name in my head, getting a feel for it on my tongue. The name fits him. Masculine yet soft.
I don’t offer up my name, which gets me another dimple-showing smile.
My heart flutters.
Trey’s lips lift. “I haven’t seen you here before. You a friend of Jill’s?”
“I’m a friend of a friend.” I use Ali’s choice of words from earlier in the night.
He nods with an ever-growing grin. “All right, friend of a friend, what are you doing out here alone?”
I take a slow drink from my cup, trying to loosen the dryness in my throat.
“I’m not alone,” I joke, pointing to the chatty table behind us.
Trey’s eyes laugh with me. His lips part around the end of the bottle, but as he takes a long drink, I swear it’s his eyes drinki
ng me in.
Once he finishes his snail pace of a drink, he says, “Honestly, what are you doing out here hiding?”
“I’m not one for crowds tonight. I’m better off in the shadows.”
“Somehow I doubt that. I’d spot you. A girl like you can’t hide.” He speaks with clear certainty.
My body flushes a deep shade of red.
I answer honestly: “I’ve had a bad day. I’m not really in the partying mood.”
He takes another swig. “Cheers to that,” he murmurs, lowering the bottle from his mouth.
I take another drink—not because I’m thirsty, but because I’m unsure what to say or do around him. He’s absolutely breathtaking and I don’t want to say something stupid and run him off.
“I was fired today.” Like that. I’m not sure why I tell him that. I’m not looking for sympathy, and honestly, I’m not really that upset about the job any more. The more I think about it, the more I agree with Mike. It really wasn’t a good fit.
“I broke up with my girlfriend tonight. Well…” He trails off, hesitating. His eyes scrunch together as he collects his thoughts. “I’m not really sure I’d call her my girlfriend, but regardless, she was the girl I was dating.” Ouch. Bad things really do travel in threes.
“It’s my birthday,” I blurt. Not that this is a competition for who’s having the shittiest day, but hey, if the shoe fits you might as well wear it.
“Shit,” he exhales. “You win.”
I giggle. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to compete with you.”
He holds his hands up in defeat, smiling. “Can I get you another?” he asks, nodding to my now-empty cup. “From the sounds of it, we both could use another.”
My body is already feeling light. From his company? The alcohol? Either way, I welcome it and accept another drink. “Please.” I hand him the cup.
“What are you drinking?”
“Bacardi Limon and Sprite.”
“One Bacardi, coming right up.” He peers at me intently. I can feel the sexual magnetism between us. Its strong power causes me to take a small step toward him.
Before the force can pull me any closer, he turns and walks away, leaving me panting for air. How can a man I’ve just met have such a strong effect over me?
I watch as he walks away from me and into the house. His jeans shape his body perfectly. Not too tight and nowhere near baggy. His ass looks perfect. I didn’t come to this party looking for a hook-up, but there’s something mysterious about him that I like.
As he saunters back toward me, I take him in from head to toe. Holy hell he’s attractive. He’s definitely tall, well over six feet, which is at least six inches taller than me. Big brown eyes with a hint of gold that shines through, sharp cheekbones, smooth, thick eyebrows, a concrete jaw, and Viking-like broad shoulders. Trey is not skinny, but rather built with thick muscle. His arms are perfectly defined, and I bet his legs are carved flawlessly underneath his jeans. Perfect body for a swimmer.
“Here we go.” His hands are full with my cup tightly gripped in one hand, two beer bottles for him clasped between his fingers, the Bacardi Limon bottle tucked under his right arm and a small Sprite bottle peeking out under the other arm.
I give him a questioning look as I take the cup from him and help shuffle the other items free.
Settling in closer to me, he answers my unspoken question. “I figured tonight calls for a pick-me-up. It’s not how you start your day, but how you finish it.”
I like where this is heading. “I’d say you’d be correct, sir.”
“Sir?” He laughs.
I blush and look away. Tucking my hair behind my ear, my fingers brush against the mask. It’s then I remember I still have it on. I forgot it was there this entire time talking to him.
When I look back up, I’m met with him staring directly at me. It’s too easy to get lost in his eyes.
I swallow.
He licks his lips and my eyes shift downward. I do the same and hear a tiny growl in the back of his throat. The sound is provoking. It makes me want to grab a hold of his green shirt and yank his head to me so our lips lock together, never coming up for air.
“I like the mask. I think it’s sexy.” His voice is low and raspy as he traces the lace with his pointer finger.
“You do?” My voice is anything but calm. It’s an octave higher than normal, sounding nothing like me. My heart rate speeds up. I can feel my entire body pulsate with each thump.
He gives a slow nod as if he’s giving my mouth the approval it wants to move in closer. There’s an unspoken urgency that moves between us. I swear he’s about to kiss me, but he doesn’t make a move.
I inch closer to him, willing him to do the same. His scent consumes me.
A few beats pass by.
“Fuck it.” One second I’m leaning against the railing and the next I’m being swept into Trey’s arms as he jerks me into him, brushing his lips to mine. It’s the lightest of touches. It’s like he’s waiting for me to yank away. When I don’t, he moves more eagerly. Our mouths open together and my tongue gently glides over his. His hand lands on my waist and tugs me in closer. Our tongues work impatiently with one another. I can’t get enough. Just as I’m about to wrap my arms around his neck, a car alarm sounds from the front yard, startling us both. We break apart in one swift motion and just stare at one another, panting. The group behind us pauses at the sound, but soon carries on with their conversation, unaffected and unaware of our kissing.
“Sorry about that.” His chest rises and falls as he tries to catch his breath. “I don’t know what came over me.”
My hands tremble as I run a finger along my numb lips. “No, don’t be sorry. I liked it.” Liked it? That’s all you can come up with?
He flashes me his charming dimples, and I flush.
I step back, giving us both some much needed space. There’s an awkward silence that lingers between us. He spins his beer bottle between his hands while I stare off into the distance. After what feels like five unspoken minutes, I decide to lighten the mood and change the subject, hopefully move past the awkwardness.
“So, Trey, tell me, how do you know Jill?” I have no idea who Jill is, but he mentioned her name earlier, so I can only assume she is the one who owns this house and is hosting the party.
He takes a long drink of his beer before answering. “We went to college together back in Michigan.”
“Michigan?” I raise my eyebrows. “Who in the world leaves sunny Florida to go to college in cold Michigan?”
He chuckles, turning to face me. “That’s where I’m from.”
His phone beeps in his pocket, but he ignores it.
“Really?” I’m surprised. “What brings you to Florida then?”
“Besides the warmth? Work. I was transferred here.”
I nod as if I understand what it is he does for a living. I picture him working in a corporate office, sitting behind a big desk in front of a wall made up of windows. Something sophisticated where he’s head of department.
“Sorry.” His eyes go weak. “I didn’t mean to bring that word up.”
“It’s okay. I wasn’t really good at my job anyways.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
His phone beeps again. When he doesn’t move to grab it, it begins to ring.
“Do you need to get that?” I ask, motioning to his pocket. “It might be important.”
He’s unaffected by the noise. “Not at all. It can wait. Please, continue.” And just like that he continues to give me all his attention.
I take another drink, trying to hide the fact that every time he speaks my body is about to crumble.
“It was time for a change anyways,” I continue, with a light waving gesture.
“What kind of change?” He appears to be genuinely interested.
I’m still trying to figure that out. “I need to do something that I’m more passionate about. I don’t want to work in a position that isn’t true to who I am.”
It’s the honest truth.
“What kind of work do you do?”
Shit. I think about it for a moment. Do I tell him I was a waitress? That would only open up the next conversation—my age, what I’m aspiring to be, and further dialogue that will only lead to our night ending much sooner than I want. And I don’t want our night to end. There’s no reason for him to know I’m barely out of my teens and in college, working toward a degree in business that I don’t even want, but that my parents insist is a good backup plan to swimming. Not that they don’t believe in my swimming. They both just don’t understand how I can make a career out of swimming.
I decide to shift the conversation to avoid me all together. “Let’s not talk about work.”
“Good call,” he agrees.
The sound of heels clicking against the wood walking toward Trey and I fills the night air. My eyes shift from him to the woman walking toward us.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you,” Ali says with relief as she moves more quickly. Her eyes move between Trey and I, and her mouth lifts into the biggest smile, showing off her perfect white teeth.
“Good evening,” Trey declares, holding out his hand. “I’m Trey. I’ve been holding up your friend here, sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry.” She takes his hand, but looks at me with an approving nod and a look that says holy shit, woman, you did well.
I give her a warning look, which only causes Trey to smile wider next to me.
“What’s up?” I ask Ali, shooting daggers her way.
“I ran into an old friend,” she pauses, giving a small head nod backward. Both Trey and I look over her shoulder to see a man waiting a few feet behind her, shifting back and forth on his feet. “Are you able to drive my car home, or…” Shifting her eyes between us, she suggests, “Find a ride home?”
“I’ll give her a ride,” Trey offers, looking directly at Ali, with not as much as a sideways glance my way.
“You will?” I try my best to keep my voice steady and calm, but secretly I’m jumping with glee inside.
“Of course.” It’s with those words he shifts back to me. “I’ll stop drinking now.” With one intensifying look, he’s able to make me feel as if I’m the only person that matters in this very second. There’s no Ali, no group of people behind us, no party taking place. It’s just him and me.